


As To Thy Friends

by eavis



Series: A Miraculous World [1]
Category: Avengers (Comics), Marvel Adventures: Avengers, The Avengers (2012), The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: (but he's still a great guy), (did i mention i like tony), COULSON LIVES!, Comic Book Science, Deaf Character, Deaf Clint, Deaf Clint Barton, F/M, Five And One, Frigga (mentioned), Gen, Gen Work, Kid Fic, Kid Loki, Mostly Gen, Odin (mentioned), Team Bonding, Team Dynamics, Team as Family, Tony Has Issues, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, comic book healthcare, comic book magic, five and one fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-01
Updated: 2013-05-01
Packaged: 2017-12-10 01:43:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/780331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eavis/pseuds/eavis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five things Tony gave his teammates and one thing they gave him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As To Thy Friends

**Author's Note:**

> Hover over Russian for translation. (EDIT: Many thanks to R2R, who was kind enough to point out my massively incorrect Russian and give me the correct translation.)

I.

Bruce is first to move into the tower, so in a way  you could say that Tony gave him a home, but that wasn’t quite right. After the battle of New York, SHEILD had offered Bruce accommodations at HQ and a job in their labs, but unvoiced by the agent who brought the offer was “and accommodations for the Hulk”. Before he could answer the offer with a practiced “thanks, but no thanks – I hear the jungles of Brazil are very nice this time of year”, Tony strolled up behind him, finally out of the battered, sparking suit, and said, “Hey, Doctor Banner, ready to go?” And Bruce looked at the nervous agent and then at the genius billionaire who had literally poked him with a stick and said, “Just let me grab my stuff.”

So Tony had offered him an alternative to SHIELD, but that’s not it either. Once he’d moved in there was his floor, with his own labs and the offer of assistants if he wanted them (he didn’t; he preferred his own company to the company of awe-struck/terrified minions), his favorite blend of tea (a rooibus he’d come to like while hiding from one of Ross’ hit-squads in Central Africa), and even a _salary_ , which he didn’t even know about until Pepper Potts, CEO of Stark Industries and Tony’s girlfriend, pauses on her way out the door from dropping off Bruce’s suit for the charity function SHIELD is throwing (mostly, Clint says, to get everyone’s minds off the fact that they tried to nuke the better part of New York) and says, “Did Tony tell you he’s paying you?”

Bruce just blinks at her and she does something that probably would have been an eyeroll if she hadn’t been working for Tony for so long and says, “When was the last time you checked your bank account?”

He blinks at her again before pulling up his bank information on his Stark Tablet (also a gift from Tony). There are significantly more millions of dollars than there were three months ago. He takes a deep breath, and then another, envisioning any green that might be showing in his eyes or skin leeching out with the exhale. Then he says, (calmly, always calmly, except when he’s…not), “This is going to sound a little ridiculous, what with –“ he gestures shortly to the high-tech lab around him “-but I really don’t want charity, Ms. Potts. Especially if Mr. Stark is trying to pay me to be his friend.” He half expects her to have retreated, if only behind the files she’s carrying, but they’re still tucked neatly in the crook of one arm.

“Doctor Banner.” She looks him straight in the eye. “Tony Stark has never had a normal relationship in his life. His closest friend for over ten years has been Col. Rhodes, and if you read Tony’s file, last year’s notes will tell you something about the irregularity of that particular friendship. Tony is not paying you to be his friend, he is paying you because he respects you and likes you and admires your work and wants you to be able to continue that work in relative peace and quiet.” Something in her face relaxes and she ends, with a smile, “And if you could possibly convince him that he actually does require food and sleep once in a while, I would appreciate it.”

Bruce smiles back. “Based on what I’ve seen of Tony’s habits, I’d be better off not making any promises, but I can try.”

So there’s the salary and the implicit offer of friendship (Bruce thinks back to Tony’s first words to him and wonders if maybe that was the first offer to both him and the Hulk at once) but it’s really neither of these. Bruce thinks the best thing Tony gave him happened the day after he woke up from letting out the Other Guy to smash a battalion of Golems. He’d asked immediately, “Was anyone hurt?” because he has to know, even though he knows it won’t change anything, but he still asks every time, and Tony’d given him a look that he couldn’t quite decipher, even as Cap said that Hulk only smashed the bad guys. Then later, once his muscles have stopped shaking quite so much and it’s mostly just the residual soreness that always lingers for a day or so after his alter-ego comes out to play, he’s wandered down to Tony’s workshop. He brings coffee with him because Tony is always, without fail, in the mood for caffeine, and taps on the glass door to the workshop.

The music is so loud that Bruce can hear it standing outside, but JARVIS must alert Tony that Bruce is there, because the other man waves him in without looking around and the music cuts out.

“Bruce! Just the man I wanted to see!” Tony shoves aside whatever it is he’s working on (which, honestly, could be anything from a weapon that could revolutionize modern warfare, to a kosher toaster that’s designed specifically to toast challah bread) and grabs one of the mugs out of Bruce’s hands with all the restraint of an addict. Bruce thinks back to Ms. Potts’ request and wonders if he’s actually become an enabler, but moves that thought aside in favor of raising an inquisitive eyebrow. “Me? Why? Have you made any progress with incorporating the inter-stellar specs Dr. Foster into the suit?”

Tony brushes Dr. Foster and the suit away with an impatient movement of the hand not holding his coffee. “No, that’s not it.” He hesitates, face half-way between guilt and uncertainty. He takes a large swallow of coffee (Bruce winces; it’s still far too hot for anyone but Tony to consider taking a sip - much less a swig) before setting it down and looking at Bruce with earnest sharpness in his expression. “It’s about this. The other day, after we saved New York again, you asked – and you _always ask_ don’t think I haven’t noticed – if you hurt anyone, and even if you seem to have a pretty good working relationship with the Big Guy these days, I thought you might want to see these. JARVIS, bring up file One Nine Six Six, page 27, please.”

A neatly outlined and bulleted list document springs to life on the screen in front of Bruce, and he scans it for less than thirty seconds before he realizes what it is and turns to Tony, who is not-looking at him with excruciating intensity. “Tony – these are –“

“Contingency plans for the Hulk, yeah.” Tony glances briefly up from his in-depth perusal of his coffee dregs and back down to them even faster. “It’s not just for him, though, I mean, duh, we’ve got a super-powered alien from Norse myths, our very own Sleeping Beauty and a couple ninja assassins, one of whom can kill people with her _thighs_ , and seriously, even if that’s a pretty awesome way to go it’s still just a little bit disturbing and there’s _me_ , so really the Big Guy is actually kinda the least of our worries. It’s not like you’re the only special one around here or anything so don’t go getting an opinion of yourself to match your alter-ego.”

Bruce can feel the Other Guy shifting in the back of his mind, confused by the overwhelming rush of relief Bruce is feeling, but he subsides when Bruce promises him smashing soon (yet another thing Tony’s given them; a nearly Hulk-proof room that’s essentially a play-room with lots of things to smash where it won't hurt anyone). He looks at the man opposite him, who has gone to such lengths to ensure that Bruce and the Hulk are comfortable, but is as wary of genuine praise and thanks as a neophyte writer who’s had one-too-may rejection slips, and swallows down his first inclination to a more grandiose declaration of thanks. Instead he just says, “Thanks, Tony.”

But before he leaves the lab, he sets down his own mug and pulls the other man into a firm hug. Tony’s hands flail awkwardly for a second before gingerly patting Bruce on a shoulder. “Uh, yeah, sure, Bruce-y, anytime. Contingency plans are the way to your heart; I’ll remember that.”

Bruce huffs a laugh and steps back. “You know what they say – it’s the thought that counts. And I appreciate that you aren’t being a complete moron about this.”

He turns to go, ignoring Tony’s semi-offended huff, but on the threshold he halts long enough for Tony to say from behind him, “Just so you know, I don’t believe we’ll ever have to use those.”

His shoulders hunch a little, but in his head Hulk roars his agreement with “Metalman-Tony”, so he just turns his head a little and nods and leaves it at that.

Tony Stark will do what he has to if he has to do it, and that’s the best thing Tony could ever give him.

 

II.

Steve’s is kind of an accident. Clint and Natasha had just gotten back from an op that even the Avengers’ clearance level can’t hear about and so they’re pretty much just complaining about how undercover work is so much more difficult now that their faces are splashed across the media and Steve is sitting in the corner looking wistful and Bruce notices and asks him about it. Steve tries to downplay it as nothing, but, as Tony (not so) delicately points out, often and at great length, he can’t lie worth a darn, so he admits, “I guess I just miss undercover work. I mean, not the war, of course, or Schmidt, but just – the uniform is great, but it’s kinda flashy, you know? And there’s something about having the option to fight without everyone instantly knowing who you are.” He shrugs. “But hey, I get to be an Avenger and hit aliens with a shield, so what have I got to complain about?”

The others think, later, that they should have guessed something was up when Tony doesn’t say anything to that beyond a comment about shields being “made for _defensive_ purposes, Cap, not throwing at Nazis and Red Zombies and aliens on the off chance it’ll come back to you”, but in their defense, Thor’s arrival (and surprise company) drives it completely out of their heads. It’s almost a week later and Bruce and Pepper are trying to drag Tony out of the lab – he’s three hours past his (grudgingly) agreed-to limit of nine hours without sleep or food that hasn’t been prepared in a blender by Dummy – and he’s protesting more than anyone should have the energy for after twelve hours hunched over a workbench.

“Look, Pepper, I promise, I’ll eat a sandwich or something, just let me _finish_ , come on, Bruce, you know I can go much longer without sleep, I was right on the edge of something there.”

“Tony, haven’t you ever heard that just because you _can_ do something doesn’t mean you _should_?”

“Who came up with that saying that is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard, I really need to just go back and run a few more tests and then I’ll sleep, I promise.”

Bruce and Pepper look at each other, sigh, and then Pepper says, “Fine. But you will eat a sandwich, and then you will take a two hour nap and _then_ you may finish whatever you’re working on. And if you try and get out of any of that I will sic Steve on you and if you don’t listen to him I will send Loki.”

Tony blanches. “Fine, fine, I promise, whatever. Now get out and let me work.”

A couple days later, as Steve is sketching on the rooftop garden (Pepper’s influence, he’s pretty sure; Tony doesn’t seem the type to care about gardening beyond paying someone to make sure it looks perfect, winter and summer alike), he hears the disembodied voice of JARVIS coming from a nearby rock. “ _Captain Rogers? If you’ve a few moments to spare, Master Stark requests your presence in his workshop.”_

Steve flips his sketchbook shut; he was mostly just sitting and enjoying the sun on his face anyway (there’s something in him that can’t quite ever forget the bone-deep chill of his 70 year sleep in the ice and he revels in heat in any form), and whatever Tony wants, it’s almost certain to be less boring than watching a couple pigeons fight over a bread crust. “Yes, thank you, JARVIS, tell him I’ll be right down.”

When he arrives in the workshop he finds both Tony – or, to be more specific, Tony’s legs – underneath one of his many cars, tinkering with something that will probably make the vehicle illegal in a half-dozen countries, and something playing that he’s a bit hesitant to call music, since it seems to consist of people screaming lyrics and drums sounding an unrelenting beat underneath the wailing of some electric instrument. He raises his voice. “Tony? JARVIS said you wanted to see me?”

Tony sounds like he’s talking around a screwdriver or wrench as he says, “Music to 20%,” and then rolls out from under the car. “Sorry about the music level – it’s loud even for normal Neanderthal hearing, so it’s got to be torture for super-ears.”

Steve blinks a couple times and his confusion must show, because Tony’s face shifts from polite apology to mock (unless it’s real; Steve’s given up trying to work out what exactly Tony Stark is feeling at any given moment) indignation. “Cap, I am deeply injured by your suspicious looks. I expect it from Barton and Romanoff, but from you? This hurts.” He pulls himself to his feet and shoves the rolling cart he’d been lying on off to one side. “My intentions are perfectly honorable. C’mere, I’ve got something for you.”

He goes over to a cabinet and opens it, pulling out a bundle of black fabric. Steve automatically accepts the heap when Tony pushes it into his arms. “What is it?”

Tony shrugs, his nonchalant posture and words slightly at odds with the delighted grin covering his face. “Body armor. I had some spare time, so I thought I’d knock it together for you.”

“Oh.” Steve says, a little blankly, because he remembers mentioning something about wanting armor a few weeks ago, but he hasn’t thought about it since, and for Tony to take time out of a schedule Steve _knows_ is hectic (he’s heard Pepper and Tony talking) to make something like this for him, he can’t quite – he realizes a second too late that Tony’s taken his dumbfoundedness for ingratitude; the other man’s shoulders have hunched slightly, and he’s turning away, already fiddling with something else.

“I mean, you don’t have to use it, or whatever, I just thought you might like to have it ‘in case of’, you know, just –“

There’s a lot – too much, Pepper and Tony’s best friend Rhodes tell him – that Steve doesn’t know about Tony Stark, but he knows enough now to realize he’s hurt Tony and if he doesn’t do something to fix this, fast, it’ll be another brick in the wall between them. “Hey, wait, Tony, no, it’s – I love it, I was just shocked you remembered and you had time to do it.” He shakes it out, glancing at the other man out of the corner of his eye. Tony pauses in whatever technological break-through he’s engineering now and Steve gives himself a self-congratulatory gold star. “Can you show me what everything does? I’d rather not get blown up because I reached for a MRE and hit the ‘do not press’ button instead.”

He lets the explanation (about 49% more in depth than he actually needs) wash over him without really listening to the words; he’ll ask JARVIS later to recap for him. Right now Steve’s focused on the last of the hurt draining out of Tony’s face, being leeched away like the cold of the night giving way to the warmth of a new day.

 

III.

Thor moves into the tower with more belongings than practically anyone else. He brings Mjolnir, a chest of clothes and other belongings, and a pint-sized version of earth’s Villain-of-the-Year.

Natasha and Clint have weapons pointed steadily at the Trickster’s head, and Bruce looks about one barbed remark away from Hulking out. Steve’s jaw is more square and All-American than it’s been since they found Clint huddled fully dressed in the corner of the gym’s locker room shower, staring blankly at nothing and paying no attention to the hot water pouring out of the shower head.

Thor steps protectively in front of his little (even more so than usual) brother, letting the chest slide to rest on the floor. “Peace, my friends. Loki is no threat to you.”

“Oh really?” Natasha’s head tilts and her aim doesn’t waver. “Are you forgetting the eighty people dead in two days? And that’s not even counting the people the Chitauri killed on his orders.”

“I do not forget – the memories of my people are longer than many of your lifetimes – but I have chosen to forgive.”

“So that’s supposed to make it perfectly fine for him to just waltz in here?” Clint scoffs. “You’ll forgive me if I need a little more than a relative’s forgiveness to convince me.”

“You are Clint Barton.” Loki moves around his brother and takes a step towards the arrow pointed at his head. “Though my memories are not clear, I know I did you a great wrong when I was older, and you would be well within your rights to demand my head as weregild.”

“Loki,” Thor says warningly, but the godling waves him aside, keeping his attention entirely on the man opposite him. “As such is your right, neither my brother nor I will attempt to stop you should you desire to loose an arrow into my eye.”

Steve takes an abrupt step forward at that, his move matched by Thor. “Loki, no!”

“It is my choice, brother, and from all that I remember of my dreams, my greatest wrongs were against this man. Agent Barton?”

Natasha glances at her partner, but says nothing to persuade him one way or another. Steve shifts, clearly uncomfortable, but follows her lead. Bruce only nods to Clint with the mild expression that could mean he’s going to fully support Hawkeye whatever he decides or could mean he’s five seconds away from “going green”, as Tony puts it.

Tony, and of course it’s Tony, says, voice uncomfortably loud in the piercing silence, “You’ve got to be kidding me. Seriously, Barton? You’re going to shoot a six year old?”

Loki’s head jerks in Stark’s direction and his eyes narrow. “I am not six!”

“Oh yeah?” Tony crosses his arms and hikes a skeptical eyebrow. “Then how old are you? In Midgaardian years?”

The boy pauses, either to calculate or because he  just doesn’t want to say, but after a moment says, “Eight. And a half.”

“Eight.” Tony repeats flatly, and turns to Clint. “Please tell me you are not going to do this.”

Clint hesitates five seconds, which is five seconds longer than Tony thinks is necessary, but he lowers his bow. “I want to know what you meant by ‘what I remember of my dreams’ and what, exactly, you’re doing as an eight year old.”

“And a half,” Loki corrects, with – is that a _pout_?

Bruce clears his throat. “If nobody’s getting shot or smashed, maybe we could all sit down? And Thor, you can go ahead and tell us what’s going on?”

“It was the queen my mother’s idea,” Thor begins obediently and readily, pulling Loki onto his lap and settling him comfortably. “She is skilled in both magic of the body and the mind and when she first saw Loki as I brought him to the All-Father for his ruling, she perceived at once that he was most grievously hurt. Before my father passed sentence on him for his crimes against your people and ours, my mother begged leave to first try a magic used often when there was much war between Asgard and Nilfheim, many millennia ago. Our mind healers had discovered that many of the most deviously maniacal of our enemies were suffering from an ailment of the mind and consciousness. This was before the making of the Bifrost, the Rainbow Bridge, and travel between the branches of Yggdrasil was hazardous at best and fatal at worst. It often drove those who looked too long into the nothingness between the branches into madness. When Loki my brother fell into the void –“ here Thor’s arms tightened around the small form in his lap ”– he looked longer into that nothingness than ever created being was meant to see, and when he fell in with the Chitauri, he was little better than a madman. Thus when he came to your world, he had not only his own natural intelligence at his fingertips, but also the crafty instincts of the crazed. I say this not to fully excuse his actions, for some responsibility must remain with him, but that you may better understand why my mother chose this course.

“As I mentioned previously, when an enemy’s mind was more deranged than malicious, they would call together certain of the oldest mothers and would work an old magic that halved the years of the sick one and reduced the knowledge of all later years to something that is as but a dream. The spell will wear off by increments as the mind is healed. This the queen our mother did for Loki. He possesses none of his former malice toward your people, and his magic can do no more than a few paltry tricks.”

There’s absolute silence for a full ten seconds and then Steve says, “Wait. You said that the spell halved his age?” at Thor’s nod of confirmation Steve goes on, disbelief dripping from every syllable, “So you’re telling me that when we fought Loki a couple months ago, he was _sixteen_?”

Thor appears to consider this. “In your years, yes.”

Tony looks at Loki, who is playing with the strap on Mjolnir’s handle. “You weren’t even _legal_ when I offered you that drink.” He scrubs a hand over his face and swears savagely.

“What he said,” Clint mutters. Natasha doesn’t say anything, but her hand leaves her gun butt for the first time since Loki appeared.

Bruce is hunched in on himself in the way the others have come to recognize as the ‘I’m sorry I’ve made everyone’s lives worse by existing’ posture.

Tony nudges him. “You all right, Bruce?”

His eyes flicker to Loki, still curled up in Thor’s lap but watching him with avid interest, and then his eyelids slam shut. “He was – Tony, he was just a _kid._ ”

Loki slips off his brother and comes to stand just in front of Bruce, on small pale hand moving to rest on the doctor’s shoulder. “You are the Green One, yes?”

The rest of the team stiffens, recalling very clearly JARVIS’ footage of what Hulk did to Old Loki, and ready to intervene should things take a turn for the worse. On either side.

Bruce’s whole body clenches, but he says, sounding unexpectedly broken (unexpected to anyone that hasn’t read the part in his file about this family: that’s exactly _none_ of them except for Thor), “Yeah – I, uh, the other – the green one and I are kinda a package deal. I’m – I’m sorry he – we – hurt you.”

The mini-Asgardian studies him for a moment and then, “It’s all right. Older me wasn’t being kind, either. He was supposed to kill all of you, I think.”

With that alarming statement and a final pat to Dr. Banner’s shoulder, Loki turns to Thor. “Can we eat? Realm travel always makes me hungry.”

Thor clears his throat and arranges his face into something a little less shocked. “Of course, Loki. Perhaps Tony Stark has some of the wondrous pastries Lady Jane names ‘pop-tarts’.”

 

 

“You know what,” Tony says, “I think I might.”

 

 

When Natasha goes to find Clint later, because not shooting someone and being okay with them sleeping in the same building is _not the same thing_ (and she should know), she finds Thor instead, eyeing a perfectly innocuous-looking air vent with a calculating look.

She halts beside him and cocks an eyebrow because someone eyeing vents like that usually means Clint and someone getting hurt is involved.

Thor sighs and says, “The Hawk and my brother are in the shafts. Though Loki is no longer bent on destruction, he has ever loved causing mischief and I fear for _our_ sanity if –“

“Say no more.” Natasha shudders internally at the thought of the chaos a bored/stressed/traumatized Clint Barton and mini Trickster god could spread. “I’m calling Steve. And Pepper.”

IV. Clint

It’s not that Clint minds Loki hanging around the tower – not the mini version, anyway – it’s more that, this particular week, an overly-inquisitive eight-year-old trickster is the last thing he needs. Especially on top of the day he’s had. They got a call about a stray Doombot bumbling around Midtown, terrorizing the local populace, and Clint was sent to take care of it, Agent Sitwell going with him for backup. Everything goes smoothly – they find the ‘bot firing on an unfortunate pizza place with the owners and customers cowering under tables and behind counters.

Clint is waiting for a quip from Tony along the lines of “the quality of this pizza must be so bad even Doombots can tell it’s terrible” and is surprised by how surprised he is when the only thing coming over his comm. is Sitwell’s brisk, “Hawkeye, have you got a clear shot?”

Sitwell’s partner was one of the six agents killed in the helicarrier attack. Clint swallows hard and says crisply in reply, “Yes sir; firing now.” He ratchets one of his exploding tips onto a shaft, notches the arrow, draws, and looses it. He realizes a split second after he releases it that he’s made a bad miscalculation. Not in misguiding his shot – he knows, even as he breaks into a dead run, that the Doombot is toast – but he forgot what the near proximity of an explosion does to him now. He tucks and rolls as the ‘bot explodes behind him, but he can already tell it’s too late.

He gets to his feet, constantly scanning for any more threats as he makes his way back to the rendezvous point with Sitwell.

The other agent is waiting for him at the van, an annoyed expression on his face. “Barton, why didn’t you respond when I asked if the target was neutralized? I was about to call for backup.”

Clint holds up his comm. unit, still smoking slightly. “Got too close – it knocked out the comm. Sorry,” he adds, because Sitwell doesn’t need another reason to hate him just a little bit more.

Sitwell mutters something Clint doesn’t catch and gestures him into the vehicle. Clint straps himself in – safety first, kids! – says preventatively, “I’m gonna get some shut-eye,” and crosses his arms over his chest comfortably. He doesn’t sleep, of course, but Sitwell can’t see behind his shades, and the important thing is that the other man’s not trying to talk.

The agent drops him off at the tower (Avengers’ Tower, people are starting to call it), and he’s inside and headed up to his floor before Stacy, the draconian receptionist at the front desk, can do more than flash him a tight, startled smile.

He's just breathing a sigh of relief that he's managed to make it to his room without running into any of his teammates when he feels a slight displacement of air and he whirls just in time to get a nerf dart right between the eyes.

Distantly a part of him notes and approves of Loki's aim, but the rest is busy noting and being furious about Loki's diabolical grin and words flowing too fast for him to catch. He (thankfully) stops short of physical violence, but snaps, "Not now, Loki," in a voice he's sure is much too loud, and stalks into his room. He closes the door and lets his head fall back against it heavily, closing his eyes against the afterimage of hurt, uncomprehending green eyes staring at him.

Then he sighs and pushes himself away from the door, although he can't quite bring himself to do anything but collapse onto his bed. He thinks he should probably go apologize to Loki, but for right now, just this minute - "JARVIS, could you put on some classic country about ten decimals higher than Tony usually has his music, please?"

Any reply JARVIS might have made is covered by the opening bars of 'Forever And Ever Amen', and Clint relaxes into the familiar chords and twang, closing his eyes. It's a couple hours later that his mind dimly registers that the music has stopped and there's another body in the room. His eyes fly open, body tensing - and then relaxing in the same instant as Natasha stares down at him, arms folded and one eyebrow hoisted delicately. She nods towards the door and says something Clint can't catch. He flops back onto the bed, shaking his head.

Natasha looks puzzled for a second before understanding dawns and her hands come down and begin to dance. _What happen? Loki say you yell when he play trick. Mission bad?_

Clint huffs and answers, his signs cutting through the air _. I stupid. Bad shot - explosion break comm. and hearing aid. When Loki play trick everything suddenly hard hard hard._ He knows his expression is close to a pout as he adds, _other hearing aids all ugly, big. Don't like to wear._

Natasha rolls her eyes. _Whatever. Priss. If you don't like, ask Tony. He can make best hearing aids._

He snorts and closes his eyes pointedly. She smacks the bedpost. _Clint! Don't ignore me! What - you want stay in room? Feel sorry for yourself? Idiot - wear ugly hearing aid or tell Tony. Or I tell him._

With a groan he throws up in hands in surrender. _Fine! I will ask. Tony in work-room?_

 _Yes._ She hesitates. _You maybe tell others soon too?_

His jaw clenches, but he nods reluctantly. She gives him a half-smile. _You want me interpret until hearing aid finished?_

"If you don't mind," he says out loud, hating that he can't tell if his voice is the right volume.

"No problem," she turns to the door, turning back enough so he can read her lips as she adds, "I sent Loki to find Steve - Cap promised he'd show him how to throw his shield."

Even with Natasha there as a buffer, Clint is thankful they don't run into any of the others on their way down to Tony's workshop. From Natasha's almost imperceptible wince as they enter, he guesses Tony must have his music up pretty loudly - although still not loud enough for him to hear it.

Tony looks up as they come in. He’s got three or four holographic screens in front of him that he collapses with a flick of his wrist. “What can I do for my favorite pair of assassins?”

Natasha turns to Clint. _You want me ask?_

He shakes his head, though he flashes her a quick smile of thanks for offering. Then he turns to Tony, who’d watched this exchange with blatant interest.

“I lost something on today’s mission and Tasha said you could probably make me a better one, so - I thought I’d ask.”

“Sure.” Tony pulls a stylus from behind his ear and begins to twirl it between his fingers. “What was it?” Natasha translates this, since Tony’s already pulled open a new page on his screen. Lip-reading is hard enough without a lot of blue lines obscuring the sight lines.

“A hearing aid.” He says.

Tony stops fiddling with the stylus and stares at him and then at Natasha and then glances around the room suspiciously. “Is Loki about to jump out of a vent? What kind of prank is this? Deaf jokes seem like the kind of thing Pepper’s always wanting me to be more sensitive about.”

Clint’s jaw clenches as Natasha translates this. “It’s not a prank, Stark. I’m deaf, okay? My hearing aid went on the fritz when I got too close to an explosion earlier. If you don’t want to help or whatever then just say so.”

“Whoa, whoa!” Stark steps through his holograms and blocks Clint as he turns to leave. “Hold on, I never said I wouldn’t help, it’s just - you’re deaf? Really? How did we not know this?”

He shrugs. “I’ve still got 20% hearing in my right ear. If I have my hearing aid in and I can see the person talking or have my comm. turned up I get along fine.”

Tony looks like he’s considering this. “Your hearing aid blew up?”

Clint raises an eyebrow. “That’s what I said, thirty seconds ago. Are you sure I’m the deaf one here?”

Tony ignores the jab. “Do you have it with you?”

When Clint hands the thing over, Tony spends about ten minutes alternating between reverse engineering it and looking at a few sets of schematics JARVIS has pulled up. Then he whirls to face Clint and Natasha, who have been holding their own soundless conversation. “Are you translating this? Translate this. Whoever designed this was an idiot. I’ll make you another one. A better one. Actually, I’ll make you a few, just in case this happens again. Which it will, because you’re Barton and you have as much of an explosions fetish as I do. If not more.”

Natasha interprets this last with a brief eyeroll, although Clint knows her well enough to detect the smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth that says she agrees, even if she doesn’t want to say it out loud.

_Thanks_ , he signs, smirking at Natasha’s disgruntled expression as she’s forced to say it out loud for him.

True to his word, less than a week later, Tony shows up in the middle of lasagna and garlic bread (Steve’s turn to cook, thankfully; Clint’s cooking skills are pretty much on the level of an average college student) and drops a package of four or five hearing aids into Clint’s lap. “They should bring your hearing up to about 47%. Much better than that antiquated ear-trumpet you were using before. Ooooh, garlic bread, gimme.”

Clint had successfully avoided alerting his teammates to his deafness by skipping movie night (it was The Sixth Sense, so it wasn’t like he was missing anything; he gets enough weird in his day job, thanks) and spending most of his time in the range on his floor or with Natasha.

As everyone at the table turns to eye him and the package he’s holding, he mentally calls Tony every obnoxious epithet he heard Natasha call him back when she was undercover here. Her eyes, when he glances at her, are closed and the expression on her face is reminiscent of the one Coulson used to wear right after the duo had just pulled a more than usually foolhardy stunt. He shoves the pain and guilt that springs up at that thought down underneath the pain and guilt Sitwell stirred up earlier and levels a hard glare at Tony.

The man continues to eat, oblivious. Clint sighs and mutters, “Thanks, Tony, you’re a real pal,” before turning to Natasha and signing _, Interpret?_

****

She nods, pushing her plate away and focusing on him as he explains what happened with Crossfire and the sonic arrow, deadly hands moving as fluidly as the words being voiced by the equally deadly woman beside him.

When he’s finished, Tony says, “So all the -” he gesticulates dramatically “- you an Natasha do on missions isn’t some secret spy thing? You’re just having normal, boring conversations? Hey, is that why you never look like you care if the other one got hurt?”

The only reason Clint doesn’t give in to the nearly overwhelming urge to punch Tony in the face is the fact that he just inadvertently called himself a pink sausage with blisters. And, well, Tony may be an overbearing, insensitive jerk with self-esteem issues to rival Clint’s own, but the hearing aids really are the best he’s ever had, so he thanks the self-proclaimed genius and puts up with the man’s smug preening for a week and a half.

(If he finally snaps and enlists Loki’s help in a Tony-centered prank war, well. It’s not like any of the others could blame him.)

V. Natasha

All of the boys are at SHIELD being de-briefed after a mission that she missed, being laid up with a broken leg and arm after a run-in with some of HYDRA’s better trained goons - if that’s not an oxymoron. So Natasha is lying on the couch, trying to read Les Miserables in the original French but mostly watching Loki conjure green balls of something that looks like fire and attempt to juggle them. (Tony and Bruce have fits whenever Loki does magic, because they can’t figure out how it works and their sensors don’t pick anything up.)

He glances up and sees her watching and flashes her a grin. She’s struck again with the difference between this young Loki and his lonely, embittered older self. He mostly spends his time reading, practicing his magic, sparring with them, or pulling pranks, usually with Clint as an eager ally. She thinks Clint must have warned him about pulling pranks on her, but she still checks above doorways and around corners. This is still Loki, after all, no matter how old he is. Probably the biggest difference between him then and now is -

“Auntie Nat?”

She sighs. That. In the first week Loki was here, he'd called them all by whatever honorifics were appropriate - Agents Barton and Romanov, Dr. Banner, Captain Rogers, Mr. Stark - but Steve, about a week in to Thor and Loki moving in, finally cracked and told Loki to just call him Steve. Loki had looked doubtful and said that his mother had told him it wasn't polite to call adults by their first names. Clint had told Loki, after a faintly derisive hoot, that he could always call him “Uncle Steve". Steve had latched on to the idea immediately, and even suggested, with a grin that was disturbing for it's resemblance to Tony's when he got an idea that would probably end in things blowing up, "In fact, Loki, why don't you just call all of us aunt and uncle?" Clint had pulled Cap aside, frantically shaking his head. "Do you  _want_  the kid to be eviscerated the first time he calls her Aunt Natasha?"

And, as Natasha recalls, it had thrown her for a second, but since Clint had been eyeing her like she was a bomb about to go off, she had taken a perverse pleasure in accepting the title without a fuss. The memory makes her smile a little as she responds, "Yes, Loki?"

"Auntie Nat, do you want to juggle?"

"I don't know if I would be very good at it,  проказник ."

Loki looks skeptical. "Uncle Tony says you're kick- I mean, really good at everything."

A smile pulls at one corner of her mouth at the edited word and then turns sad. "Not quite everything," she murmurs, thinking of Coulson and how fatally bad she was at keeping him safe.

Green fire flickering somberly in one small palm, Loki says, "I'm sorry your friend got hurt because of me."

Natasha stiffens. Has Loki added mind-reading to his list of 'pranks'? "What do you mean?"

"I had another dream last night," he says, eyes on the fire in his hand, "about the man you and Uncle Clint used to work for. When I asked JARVIS, he said Agent Coulson was really hurt when I - I mean, older me, attacked SHIELD's big airship and he almost died."

Natasha's eyebrows rise involuntarily and a flicker of hope she hadn't even known was still alive flutters fiercely at the 'almost'. JARVIS doesn't tell comforting lies.

The AI speaks suddenly. " _Master Loki is correct, Agent Romanov. When he woke this morning in some distress, I took the liberty of looking up information on the man I recognized, from Master Loki's description, to be Agent Coulson. Upon further searching SHIELD's files, it became apparent that reports of the agent's death had been greatly exaggerated. I was able to ascertain, approximately 7.3 minutes ago, that he is currently in a medically induced coma at SHIELD Medical_."

Her jaw clicks shut hard. "Have you alerted the others?"

" _Master Stark is aware of the situation. I believe at this precise moment he is demanding to see Director Fury personally. I have not yet informed the others, as I was unsure if the knowledge perhaps might be better received from someone closer to Agent Barton, due to the delicate nature of the situation."_

Natasha nods in approval and acknowledgement and looks at Loki. "You have any healing spells in your bag of tricks?"

His expression is hesitant. "Mother says healing magic is the hardest to do. And I only know little spells, like for cuts and things like that. I'm sorry."

She brushes the apology away, already reaching for her crutches, and bracing herself, pulls herself upright. "JARVIS, can you call a taxi? Loki, I need you to get a couple things from my room; can you do that?"

Jaw determined, he asks, "What do you need?"

Telling him first which places in the room to avoid if he doesn't want to suffer potentially hazardous and/or dangerous pitfalls, she lists off various and sundry pieces of weaponry to collect and while he darts off to do as she said, eager to help, she makes her painfully slow way down to the main entrance where the taxi will be.

Loki meets her in a quiet corner of the nearly-empty lobby with the things she asked for in a bag over her shoulder. She thanks him, slinging it over her own and ignoring the twinge in her arm. He bites his lip, looking up at her shyly. "Shouldn't I come with you? You might need my help again. And I know a spell for taking away pain, too."

Fury doesn't know about Loki, and they'd like to keep it that way. And besides - "I'm sorry, [проказник](google.com), I have a feeling the Director is going to be upset enough for one day without throwing you into the mix. It's politics," she adds, because if there's one thing Loki understands, even at this age, it's how important negotiating politics is. "But I wouldn't turn down that spell." She offers him a smile; understanding why something must be the way it must be isn't the same as accepting it.

His face brightens in an answering grin and he brushes his fingers lightly over her arm and leg. A green light surges briefly and subsides, and with it the pain. She flexes her hand and despite the fact that she knows both injuries are still very much there, the absence of the pain is so marked she feels almost light-headed with the relief. "Thank you, Loki. Now go on back upstairs. You can ask JARVIS to keep you updated, all right? We'll be home soon, hopefully."

The taxi-driver says nothing condescending about Natasha's casts or crutches and he helps her maneuver out of the taxi when they stop in front of HQ, so she hands him a fifty dollar bill, says, "keep the change" and heads into the building, glaring down the agent posted at the door when he feebly protests her bypassing the security check. She slides a comm. piece over one ear and says quietly, "JARVIS, patch me through to Tony."

He doesn't respond, but ten seconds later Tony’s voice comes through, loud and furious, “…do you have any idea how miserable I can make your life if you don’t let me in to see Fury right now? Because I would be happy to outline them for you if you give me a couple weeks. Why don’t I start with –“

 

“Tony,” Natasha interrupts, "What's the sitrep?"

There's another pause, and then he responds, more quietly, "I haven't told Barton or Thor yet. Bruce and Steve know, but I made them let me at Fury first. I'm threatening his secretary, but apparently Fury's trying to stop an international incident or something because he won't let me in."

"He'll have an intergalactic incident on his hands once Thor finds out. Give me three minutes and I'll help you terroize the minions."

"I'll take notes."

_____

 

Between them, the poor harassed secretary really doesn't have a chance; even if Natasha is down a couple limbs, everyone at SHIELD has heard stories of exactly how many appendages she needs to kill someone (generally accepted consensus: just her little finger), and he buzzes them into Fury's office.

Fortunately for international politics, Fury's just closing up his meeting as they walk in. One eyebrow goes up. "To what do I owe this visit, Mr. Stark? Agent Romanov?"

"Why didn't you tell us that Coulson survived Loki's attack?" Natasha forgoes the added intimidation served by remaining standing and lowers herself into a chair, moving the crutches to one side. The effects of Loki's spell are beginning to wear off.

Fury's eye widens for a fraction of a second, but Tony interrupts before he can say anything. "Oh, I think I can answer that." Tony's leaning in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. "Probably for the same reason he took Agent's cards out of his locker and threw some blood on them - to give us a push."

Natasha hadn't known it wasn't Coulson's blood. Tony must see something in her face, because he says, to her but looking at Fury, "Agent Coulson was so proud of those cards - kept them in a collectors' book and kept _that_ in his locker. I heard him telling Pepper about it once. And I would also like to know why he's in a medically induced coma here at SHIELD."

"Look, Mr. Stark, you did nothing but give Coulson trouble the entire time you knew him, so I don't think you have any right to come in here and lecture me about doing the right thing."

Tony's face closes off and Natasha feels a surge of dislike for the man seated across from her. As Clint puts it, "Tony whines, he complains, he ducks out of the most obvious responsibility. He’s vain, petty and maddening, but he doesn't ever quit.” She’s pretty sure Clint was quoting something, but her opinion of Tony has grown to match this judgment pretty much exactly in the past few months of working together.

Ignoring Fury, she looks at Tony. "The second he can safely be moved, I want him with us. I'm taking Doctor Banner down to Medical to make an assessment and briefing Barton. You'll take care of the rest?"

He makes a sort of half-bow in her direction. "As you wish."

They'd watched the Princess Bride only two weeks ago, but it takes her a second to place the reference in such a different context. She rolls her eyes at him and pulls herself to her feet.

There are a couple tantrums and (forever unmentioned) more than a few tears when Coulson finally wakes up in a private room on Stark Industries' medical floor two weeks later, Clint and Natasha by his bed and the rest waiting in the hallway. Natasha never finds out what exactly Tony said to Fury to make him let them take Coulson, and somewhat to her surprise, she finds herself content to trust that he truly did take care of it and there won't be SHEILD teams coming anytime to try and take him back.

A week after Coulson wakes up, Natasha wanders down to the large communal kitchen to fix herself a drink. Tony's already there, piling meat and cheese on two enormous slices of sourdough bread. He looks up as she walks in and nods, but doesn't say anything.

She goes over to the refrigerator and begins to rummage for the milk when she pauses, struck by a thought. She'd never thanked Tony for helping get Coulson out. Not that she thinks he expects it - he does seem to have a genuine respect for the Agent, despite his odd way of showing it - but her ledger bears silent witness to the fact that she likes to pay her debts, and she thinks she might know the right thing to pay this one.

She pulls out the milk and lines it up on the counter with a jar of honey and (after rather prolonged rummaging) a bottle of vanilla. Pouring the milk and vanilla into a saucepan and ignoring Tony's blatantly curious stare, she waits until it's warm to add a couple teaspoons of honey. "A good friend of mine used to make this for me whenever I was sick and couldn't be out in the field. I'd come into his office and sit in the corner to sulk and he'd fix this for me and hand me a stack of XGX-18 papers to file." Natasha pauses to pour the mixture into two mugs and sets one in front of Tony. "I'm…gratified that he's still here to do it."

Taking her own mug, she moves to the doorway. From behind her, Tony says softly, "He's a good man, Tasha. Thanks…for the milk."

She raises her own mug in a small salute. "Anytime."

 

_________

 

\+ 1 Tony

 

Tony's in Asia promoting Stark Industries' new well cover that doubles as an automatic purifier and comes with a well rigger and a crew to dig and set up the well if there isn't a preexisting one.

Bruce is in his lab, half-heartedly running through a set of equations, when Steve walks in with a worn journal in one hand and a troubled look on his face.

"Something wrong, Cap?" Bruce switches off his tablet, glad of the distraction; science without a 'science bro', as Pepper affectionately calls them, is only half the fun.

"I found this," Steve says without preamble, handing the notebook to Bruce, "Tony gave me pretty much all of the personal stuff Howard left to Fury to give him. And I was just going through a couple of the journals when I found this, and I…I really don't know what to do with it."

Bruce silently reads the entry Steve has marked and then, closing the book gently, sets it aside and begins to polish his glasses.

"Should I show it to Tony? I mean," Steve shrugs a little helplessly, "It'd be kinda hard for him to like Howard any less, and it might give him some closure or something."

"I think," Bruce doesn't look up from polishing his glasses, "I think you should lock away all the alcohol and the suits and then you should give it to him and the next day we should throw him a party."

"A party?" A new voice says from the vicinity of the ceiling, and Clint drops down lightly. Steve startles, but Bruce just pinches the bridge of his nose. "Clint, we've talked about this. There's a lot of expensive equipment in here I'd rather not break."

"Please." Clint scoffs. "Like me jumping down from the ceiling would bring Jade Jaws out."

Bruce sighs. Clint ignores him. "So what's this about a party?"

"For Tony," Steve explains, "because of this." He hands Clint the journal. The archer reads it and then lets out a silent whistle. "Man, I knew my dad was messed up, but I had it pretty good compared with this."

"Don't." Steve says sharply, because all of them have had terrible experiences with dads and father-figures, but just because some scars are more easily hidden doesn't mean they aren't there.

Clint shrugs. "Okay, so party for Tony to make him feel better about the fact that his dad was a tool. When? He'll be in Asia for the next two weeks, and Pepper with him and we absolutely cannot plan a party for Tony without Pepper's input."

"How about having the party on his birthday?" Natasha's in the doorway, Loki in front of her and Thor looming behind.

"When's that?"

"Three weeks from today."

"Really?" Clint frowns. "I didn't know that."

"It's on the calendar in the kitchen. Circled in red and with an arrow pointing to it." Natasha manages to look exasperated with Clint's observational skills (or lack thereof) and bored with Tony's tactics at the same time.

"I saw it," Thor says, helpfully, "although I was not aware of its significance. In Asgard we do not celebrate every year as you do here. Jane tells me that gift-giving is still a tradition, though. What sort of gift would be appropriate?"

There's a blank pause, and then Steve says what they're all thinking. "What kind of present do you get the guy that has everything?"

"Hugs." Loki says decidedly. There's an awkward pause before Bruce asks Loki, very gently, why hugs? "Because Agent Phil says they make people feel better."

There's another pause, and then Steve says, "Right. Hugs. Okay. Any more thoughts?"

They debate the question for a while, but the suggestions keep getting more and more ridiculous until JARVIS interrupts. _"If I might make a suggestion, Captain Rogers?"_

"JARVIS!" Steve looks up in relief; Clint just suggested personalized pop-tarts, an idea Thor latched onto with an alarming amount of enthusiasm, "Of course, we should have asked you to begin with. What have you got?"

" _I believe Col. Rhodes might possibly be of assistance to you. He has been on a mission the past two weeks, but returned to the country two days ago. Would you like for me to send him a message?"_

"Yes," Steve says firmly, throwing Loki a warning look. For some reason, the ex-villain had taken a decided dislike to Rhodey, and was not shy about expressing his opinion in ever-increasingly inventive ways. "Thank you, JARVIS."

" _My pleasure, Captain."_

When Rhodey comes and Steve, Clint, and Natasha tell him the situation (Bruce and Thor prudently took Loki to go visit the pigeons at the nearest park), Tony's friend sits back in his seat, one hand rubbing his mouth thoughtfully. "You know, I think the last birthday Tony had where he wasn't either drunk or high or both was when he was 13, just before Jarvis died and Tony went off to MIT."

"What?" Clint looks at Natasha, who picks up on the cue and repeats in a shocked voice, "He hasn't had a proper birthday since he was 13?"

Steve glances from Clint to Natasha and smothers a smile; Natasha is almost never shocked, and even when she is she never shows it. The two agents have clearly worked around Clint's deafness before. "So, no alcohol, then." Steve makes a note on his legal pad (so sue him; he likes old-fashioned).

“Or,” Natasha suggests, taking in Clint and Rhodey’s shocked faces, “we could ask Thor to pick up a keg of mead from Asgard and just serve that.”

 

 

“Just make sure Loki doesn’t spike it with anything,” Rhodey mutters, clearly recalling the last time Loki offered him a drink and how he spent the rest of the evening bursting into song every time anyone said his name.

They talk to Pepper in a video call before deciding anything else, and she tells them that Tony always has a party with his Stark Industries employees, so she suggests an afterparty for just the team and Rhodey. “I’ll send you a list of Tony’s favorite movies and we can have a movie night. Steve can grill hamburgers and we’ll drink mead and eat cheesy popcorn.” She smiles at Loki, who is nearly vibrating with excitement in front of Steve’s laptop. “And yes, Loki, I think hugs are excellent presents for Tony. God knows he never got enough of them when he was young,” she mutters.

Coulson, who is right in the middle at the most comfortable part of the couch, says mildly, “Any other suggestions for presents, Pepper? I’m afraid I’m not quite up to hugs just yet.”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something.” With a slightly disturbing grin, she disconnects the call.

They do, it turns out. Three weeks later, Tony stumbles into the main kitchen with his tie undone and his suit-coat already half-off. There’s a pile of presents on the table and Pepper and Clint are slicing cheese and lettuce and tomatoes and onions for the hamburgers Steve’s grilling. Tony stops in the doorway and stares. “Is someone having a party and no one told me?”

Pepper laughs and leans over to give him a kiss. “It’s your birthday, Mr. Stark.”

“Well, yes, Ms. Potts, but I just had a party.”

“ _We_ weren’t invited,” Clint says, looking as offended as he can whilst his hands are dripping with tomato entrails.

Tony points at him accusingly. “I did invite you! You just pretended you didn’t hear me because you hate parties.”

Clint grins, unabashedly. “I had to wrap your present, didn’t I?”

“Present?” Tony’s head whips around and he looks alarmingly like a greyhound poised to run. Pepper points the knife in his direction. “Not until after dinner’s ready, Tony.”

They don’t make him wait until after dinner because there’s a pretty good chance he’d explode, but Steve does make him wait until all the food’s arranged on the tables in front of the couches before he hands him a flat, thin package. Tony rips into it eagerly, and pulls out a picture, hand-drawn in oils, of all the Avengers during a movie night. Thor’s on one corner of the couch, with Loki half in his lap and half in Pepper’s, Tony next to her, glow from the arc reactor lighting up their faces and softening the planes of their faces. Bruce is on Pepper’s other side, head tilted back and glasses askew as he sleeps. Coulson’s in his own armchair, with Clint perched on the arm and Natasha on the floor in front of him. Tony looks at it steadily for a minute, then says, “JARVIS? Order me a frame.”

“Actually,” Clint says, sounding a little embarrassed, “that’s the next present.” He hands over a flat package of his own, and opening it, Tony finds a wooden frame, carefully sanded and polished, with delicate carvings around the edges that turn out to be, upon closer inspection, a Cyrillic word carved over and over. “Natasha did the carving,” Clint explains unnecessarily.

“It means ‘family’.” Natasha meets his eyes. Tony looks away, grateful for Loki’s impatient, “Mine next, Uncle Tony!”

This package is heavier, but it has the feel of books, and when unwrapped, turns out to be an old, leather-bound book of magic spells, from Asgard, and complete editions of _The Chronicles of Narnia, The Lord of the Rings_ , and _Harry Potter_. “So you can get mad at someone else’s magic,” Loki explains impishly.

Pepper had already given him his present, and Bruce just says his present is in the labs and he’ll have to see it tomorrow. Rhodey hands him a book entitled _Backyard Ballistics: Expanded and Even More Explosive!_ Coulson gives him a ‘get out of paperwork free’ card, good for one use only, and Thor gets up and goes into the other room, coming back with an honest-to-goodness keg of mead.

Then Steve clears his throat. “Okay, we need to eat before the food gets cold, but I just want to say, Tony, I’m really thankful that you’re on this team. And that you’ve got a lot of money and room for all of us to crash your flop. Tower,” he amends hastily, “I wasn’t implying anything about the quality or – oh, never mind. The point is, Tony, we all are really grateful, and we all wish you a very happy birthday and many happy returns of the day.”

Tony blinks and clears his throat and starts two or three sentences before settling simply on, “Thanks, guys.”

They watch RED, Tony and Clint quoting along with the entire movie, and then when it’s over and they’re starting the Bourne trilogy, Steve silently hands Tony the journal, open to the marked place, and they all pretend not to notice when he slips out ten minutes later. When Steve notices Tony’s tumbler of mead is gone as well (and even he could feel a buzz from a full tumbler of Asgardian liquor), he nudges Rhodey and motions the other man after Tony.

None of them say anything when the two men come back halfway through the Bourne Legacy, traces of tears on Tony’s cheeks, but Loki crawls over and curls up on Tony’s lap, small arms as far around the man as they can reach. “Uncle Tony,” he whispers, and Tony leans down, “I think Uncle Clint ran away to make movies instead of to the circus. The man looks exactly like him and he’s an agent too.”

Tony laughs and pulls Loki closer, and Pepper hands him the cheesy popcorn and his team is busy teasing Clint about his secret life as a movie-star and it’s not perfect, but it’s okay. They’ve made something here, something good, and that – that’s good.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Shakespeare's The Merchant of Venice. In full:
> 
> If thou wilt lend this money, lend it not  
> As to thy friends; for when did friendship take  
> A breed for barren metal of his friend?  
> (The Merchant of Venice 1.3.133), Antonio to Shylock
> 
> I've mixed and matched every canon out there, so have fun picking out what goes where. But I will say that Clint using hearing aids is canon; I refer you here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blue_Ear_(Marvel_Comics) for verification (the note about Hawkeye is in the middle), or to Hawkeye Vol.1 #1–4. The conversations in italics are, as close as I could make them and still have them be understandable, ASL as you would sign a conversation with a deaf person. If you spot any glaring errors or irregularities please let me know and I'll try to fix them. When Natasha has to tell Tony 'thanks' for Clint - that's a nod to real life interpreters, who absolutely if they are interpreting /must/ voice everything the deaf person with them signs. Clint knows this and so that was his payback for her agreeing with Tony that he had an explosions fetish (which he totally does, by the by). I can't remember where I first read about Clint's love of country music (and I have no idea if it's canon anywhere) but I liked the idea so much I decided to include a nod to it. The file number of the contingency plans I got from the date the first Hulk issue was released.
> 
> A weregild was the was a value placed on every human being and every piece of property in the Salic Code (Salic Law). If property was stolen, or someone was injured or killed, the guilty person would have to pay weregild as restitution to the victim's family or to the owner of the property.
> 
> The line Clint quotes about Tony is taken from The King of Attolia, by Megan Whalen Turner, and that entire series is fabulous, by the by.
> 
> There's a real-life organization called Water of Life that does what Stark Industries futuristically does in this story. Visit their website: http://givefreshwater.org/ for more information.


End file.
